


And The Shadows Fall And The Crickets Sing

by andyouknowitis



Series: The 'And...' Series [5]
Category: One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:39:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andyouknowitis/pseuds/andyouknowitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He didn’t see him in jeans enough out of work for his liking, but they’d done some visiting with the grandparents earlier so they’d both dressed up a little, before dropping off the car in the drive and going on the walk when they’d gotten back. The fit of the denim across his hips and thighs made him want to watch, and touch, and just feel the warmth of him pressed against him. He let his eyes run across his chest and down his arms, just taking him in. All that bare skin covered in the story of them. He wants to touch him now, but he’s waiting. Waiting for the words he’ll give him next.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Lips though, Harry.” Louis shrugged, letting those delicate shoulders rise and fall. “What would I do without those?” He drew a thumb across them now. “Such a pretty mouth. And that tongue. So good. So many memories. And the feel of your lips on me is in all of them. On my cheek, and my neck, and my hands, all the places we could go, even before we ever kissed. Your lips. My skin.” He pressed his hand against Harry’s cheek, his words a soft murmur. “Lips, Harry. Make another memory with me.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Shadows Fall And The Crickets Sing

He doesn’t mind a little rain.

He doesn’t like the cold so much, but he can take a little rain. The kind that comes from home. When he’s far away in places where the rain that falls is far from real, he remembers. The background rhythm, fallen around them like a cloak in an open space. Hum met with smile under his breath, because yes, a dark world aches for a splash of the sun.

They’re here now, in the last few days of another year. Away from the filters that would make them black and white, warm from family and the friends that see them in their natural hues. Time and choice and places where the sky is always the same will steal him away soon, but for now he’s home. It’s quiet but for those patterns made between clouds. He’s walked, and smiled, and listened to him grumble at muddy lanes mixed with  _stupidly expensive coats, Harry_. All he wants is the press of his lips to the moisture danced along his skin. So he takes his smile, and his breath, and his hand, and makes him run through the deluge that descends upon them, until it’s mud stained boots on stone washed floors.

They’ve barely caught their breath before their lips meet and he’s bringing the heat of his mouth across the chill of those cheekbones, the soft tones of Louis’ laugh against his ear as he murmurs whispered words. “Keen, aren’t you?” Harry gripped his sleeve to stop him from falling as he hopped on one foot to pull a boot off, wincing as his sock clad foot hit the ground. “Fuck! Why is this floor so cold? Is the heat on?”

Harry nodded as he leaned in again to press his lips along the warmth of his neck. “Mmmm, but it is slate so y’know, takes a minute. I told you to wear those thicker socks I got, but I’ll warm you up, baby.” He ran a hand down a thigh clad in indigo denim. “You’ve got mud right here and you’re all damp. Let me clean you up. Divest you of all these...” he trailed a finger along the zipper of Louis’ jacket, dragging it down as he went, tutting when it got stuck on the final few inches, “...layers.”

Louis hunched his shoulders with a shiver. “I might just need them, at this rate. Can I get a cup of tea first?”

Harry laughed softly as he drew back slightly. “I’m being passed over for tea?”

“I’m just saying I’m gonna need one soon.” Louis reached up, touching where a few strands had escaped the now customary bun. “Your hair’s wet, you’ll get a cold.”

Harry smirked. “Offering to blow me dry, Tomlinson? I seem to recall you all but burning my scalp though, so…”

“Less mocking my blowing skills thanks, more getting on with warming things up here.”

His hands and his eyes can’t quite keep up with where he wants to touch first, murmuring in approval as Louis cursed at the zip of the offending jacket, tugging at it slightly until it came undone. Harry took his mouth again, his fingers fumbling with the hem of the jumper Louis wore, tugging at the soft cotton of the t-shirt beneath, until Louis stilled his fingers with his own hands, pulling back from the kiss. Harry glanced down, a question in his eyes, before realising that he was still wearing his gloves, and that Louis was pulling them off, with a smile. “It’s not that I don’t like you in a bit of leather, Styles, but all things considered, I’m bloody freezing from that rain and I prefer the feel of your hands on me, to be honest.”

“Just my hands?”

Louis tugged off his beanie hat and ran a hand through his hair. “What you saying?”

Harry wiggled his now bare fingers. “Lips or fingertips?”

“Who says I can’t have both?”

“I say.”

“Like that is it?”

“Like whatever you want it like.”

Louis opened his mouth to respond, then fished a hand into his pocket as his phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen. “One moment, l have to just...yeah..it’s my mum about tomorrow. Hang on, two secs til I throw her a text, or she’ll just ring.”

Harry watched as he tapped in the words. Felt the little kick of appreciative pride he always got whenever he saw Louis refer to him as ‘H’. Felt a little silly after all these years, but he still loved seeing it. Right now it was ‘ _Dropping H back in early tomorrow then I’ll meet you there, love L_.’ Louis set the phone on the counter nearby. “Soooo. What were you saying?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fuck, seriously. Is the heating broken or what? I thought it was on the timer thingy.”

“It is. Probably just needs turning up a couple of degrees.” He hummed as he laid his hands on Louis’s hips. “Speaking of, how about we turn up the heat?”

Louis laughed and shook his head. “Seriously, Harry. Even for you that’s cheesy as fuck, babe.”

Harry huffed out a breath “Just humour me, Lou, for a minute, yeah?”

Louis’ eyebrows went up. “Don’t I always? Listen to your little rambles, laugh at your jokes. Who else humours you like me, eh? I’m humouring ya. Just wondering what it is you’re after here? Bit late for games tonight, we’ve got an early start. I still haven’t sorted what I’m wearing tomorrow. I just want half an hour of crap tv and a cuppa and sleep. So just like skip to the good bit and shit.”

Harry paused, barely missing a beat as he shifted back slightly. He ran his hands up and down Louis’ arms in a gesture of comforting familiarity. “Tell you what, go get the fire on. I know you’re tired. I dunno what I was thinking going out in this weather, you’ve only just got better from before.” He shook his head sending a few stray droplets flying. “Stupid idea.” A squeeze of his fingers then. “Go grab a towel from the utility room, there’s still some in the cupboard by the tumble dryer, I think.” He tugged off his own scarf, looking down in frustration as his fingers got tangled in it. “Best leave our boots and bits in there, or we’ll fuck up the carpet and have to get the cleaners in again. I’ll put the kettle on.” He extracted a hand and flapped it in an aimless gesture towards the lounge. “Go sit and I’ll bring you some toast.”

He made to move away and remove his own coat,  _maybe the stupid scarf was caught in the collar._  Louis stilled his movement as he laid his hands against Harry’s chest, curling his fingers around the lapels of his coat before he could reach the buttons. “Where you going?”

“I just said.”

“I got that you’ll feed me like always, and that you don’t trust me with the carpet, but you know what I mean. First things first.”

“What things?”

“Come on, Harry. Do your thing. Warm me up. Be a pal.”

He had to laugh at that as he laid his hands over the back of Louis’ where he was smoothing out those lapels again. “So what you saying then? You into it? I thought you were just in the mood for your tea and maybe a bit of a grope on the sofa.” He smiled slowly. “Do you not want your toast then?”

“Later. And I wasn’t not into it. Just playing, baby. You know that. I didn’t mean we should stop. Have I ever not told you when I’m not in the mood? I’d be demanding a shoulder massage and my cornflakes just the way you make them right now, if that was the case.” He sighed as he looked down at their joined hands. “Sorry, love. I was just being a grouchy fucker, honestly. It’s not you.”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “It’s okay, hun, I know. I just wanted you to relax, that’s all. That’s why I took you on the walk. Thought I’d get some exercise and air into you, and then,” he grinned, “Well, whatever else you fancy getting into you.” He clicked his tongue. “Or into. Even if it’s just a cup of tea and your trackie bottoms.”

He watched as Louis took a quiet breath and released it again, staying silent as he moved his hands up and untangled the scarf from Harry’s neck, tossing it to the counter behind him. He looked up, his eyes more serious as he found Harry’s again. “I’m okay, you know. I know you worry, but I’m alright. Things are good. Better than good. Same shit, different day, yeah? But it’s better. We’re okay. Don’t be worrying about me, love, please. We’ve had a cracking Christmas and a nice couple of days. New Year’s nearly here. I want you to go do your thing in L.A and have a good time til I come over. Have fun and get some rest yourself before the tour’s on us again. Don’t work too hard, either.”

Harry looked at him then, really looked at him, his eyes watching the spill of multi-coloured light onto his skin, from the dull glare of the winter met with a setting sun. He could never quite describe that colour accurately. The meld of orange tones touched with pink. It was just an English country sunset. And it’ll never be ordinary; the wash of emotions that spreads through him every time Louis is stood in front of him. But it’s comfortable, even as it makes his blood sing. He wants to take him there. He just wants Louis to feel.

It happened like this sometimes, when they were not so much on different pages as just reading things another way, a different speed. One turning the page a little quicker than the other. When one of them was maybe just a little too tired, or stressed, or cold and grumpy, even when they returned the other’s kisses. It wasn’t like they ever pressured each other. They went through natural lulls like anyone else probably did, where it was more about being intimate than the sex, even though the sex was always good. Fuck, it was more than good.

Harry knew though, that despite all the steps forward, that the last few months had been harder on him than he let on. He hated the idea that for every moment he won, where he got to be himself, Louis had to endure another push back against his own progress. Of course, they talked about it, and had made their own peace and space in the day-to-day, away from it all. They counted the victories as theirs, mutual, anyway. But sometimes the things people said and thought; that some of them actually believed of Louis, when he was so very much the opposite, hurt him more than they even seemed to bother Louis himself. And he knew it did bother him. But he just got on with it. He took care of things. Took care of Harry always, so well. Sometimes, like now, he just needed to make him feel. To take care of him right back. Above and beyond the small everyday things that they did for one another. He wanted him to feel, just feel, until he could think of nothing else. He shifted forwards, until their foreheads touched, his voice a whisper. “Lips or fingertips, Louis?”

Louis pressed a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth, before grazing a lighter one across his chin, his own voice soft as he drew back. “Well now. I’m a big fan of both, if I’m honest. Gotta love a man with big hands.” His eyebrows danced. “Long fingers. Especially when he knows how to make me feel really good with them.” He lifted one of Harry’s to his own lips then. “And when he wears a ring I gave him right here. Strong hands.” He linked their fingers together. “I remember the first time we held hands. At the bungalow, when your sleeping bag was next to mine, and we were nearly asleep after talking half the night. I wanted to kiss you so badly, but I didn’t then. But I could hold your hand, and when I did it felt better than the best kiss I’d ever had.”

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off him. “For me as well.”

Louis smiled as he inched back a fraction, slipping his jacket off as he went, before murmuring  _fuck it_ and pulling off his jumper and t-shirt in one move. Harry could all but feel the breath stop in his lungs. He wanted him pretty much all of the time, that was a given. But sometimes he was just hit all over again with how sexy he was. So beautiful. He could just watch him all day and not get bored. Always finding something new mixed in with the familiar. Like when a kaleidoscope falls into a new pattern just when you think you’ve seen every variation, and then suddenly you see a mix of colours that you’ve somehow missed before. Now was very much one of those times.

He didn’t see him in jeans enough out of work for his liking, but they’d done some visiting with the grandparents earlier so they’d both dressed up a little, before dropping off the car in the drive and going on the walk when they’d gotten back. The fit of the denim across his hips and thighs made him want to watch, and touch, and just feel the warmth of him pressed against him. He let his eyes run across his chest and down his arms, just taking him in. All that bare skin covered in the story of them. He wants to touch him now, but he’s waiting. Waiting for the words he’ll give him next.

“Lips though, Harry.” Louis shrugged, letting those delicate shoulders rise and fall. “What would I do without those?” He drew a thumb across them now. “Such a pretty mouth. And that tongue. So good. So many memories. And the feel of your lips on me is in all of them. On my cheek, and my neck, and my hands, all the places we could go, even before we ever kissed. Your lips. My skin.” He pressed his hand against Harry’s cheek, his words a soft murmur. “Lips, Harry. Make another memory with me.”

Harry leaned into the touch, let his lips brush his palm. Curling his own fingers in, nails tight against his skin, to resist the urge to hold him. He lets his mouth hover over Louis’ as he steps closer, feeling him shiver at the brush of the woollen fabric from Harry’s coat against his chest. He feels that kiss even before he leans in and meets his mouth with his softly. Barely there, the rush of longing spilling through him. Through them both.

A heated trail of his lips high on his cheekbone then, a soft tug of his teeth against his right earlobe, a wet kiss against his neck, soft laps of his tongue past his collarbone to his shoulder. Just his mouth and Louis’ skin beneath it. He moves around him slowly, pressing harder kisses into the tension across his upper back. Feels his flinch, then sigh, as he hits that spot below his left shoulder blade with the briefest brush of his lips. There’s silence but for the sound of their breathing, as the house settles into night around them, while the sun falls below the horizon, the colours fading in and out.

He loves the smell of his skin after rain. He wants to taste him. Take him in. He arches his own back so he can lean in and dust butterfly kisses down his spine until his lips meet the edge of those jeans, that little swell of skin above the waistband that makes up the curve of his left hip, and he sucks on the skin a little there, soft then harder, making colours that will linger on, shades of not quite purple and green, a living memory in the days that they’re apart. He thrives on the subtle nuances of Louis’ reaction, the rush of breath met with a shiver against Harry’s mouth as he traces a particularly sensitive spot. The soft sigh he gives when Harry presses an unexpected kiss to the back of his left arm, just near his elbow.

He steps back then, moving around him further, until they’re facing one another once more. Louis’ eyes have drifted closed, Harry’s lips so close to his mouth again. So close, that he can surely feel his breath against his lips.  _So close_. But he pulls back and Louis’ eyes open then. Harry follows the flicker of his eyelashes as he blinks, brow furrowed a little. He watches as the fond smile that he knows is reserved just for him tugs at the corner of his mouth. He lives for that smile. He lets himself look right into his eyes, lets him look back, like they sometimes forget to, when it’s been long days travelling, late nights and early starts, the time apart that feels too long, no matter how needed; all quick meetings of hands and mouths in the dark. He has beautiful eyes. They’re a shade of unblemished sky that Louis would just call blue, but that seems too mundane a description to Harry himself. He just knows he loves that colour.

Louis’ gaze follows him as Harry lays his lips against his heartbeat.  _Strong._  The rise and fall of his chest beneath his mouth, as those beats increase a little in tempo. He lets his tongue drift lazily around his nipple but doesn’t touch save to blow softly across him there, causing a hitch in his breathing, and a smile from Harry against his chest. He slips to his knees, and there’s an audible crack as his right knee gives a little, which causes Louis to huff out a little laugh, a sound that quickly fades when Harry presses his mouth against his tummy. Hard against soft, his tongue dipping into his belly button wetly, all noisy kisses until Louis gasps and stumbles back slightly, bumping up against the counter behind him, one hand gripping the counter edge as he looks down at Harry, a hint of red beginning to dance across those cheekbones.

Harry holds his gaze for another moment, before letting his eyes drop to his jeans. Maybe an obstacle here and now, but fuck if he didn’t love the way they fit. He curled his fingers into his palms again and just pressed his lips beside where the last button met the fly, making Louis shift those gorgeous hips against him involuntarily.  _God his hips._ He loves the fluid motion that they somehow always find together, wherever the point of contact is.

He licked at the fabric until it grew damp against his mouth and he could feel the twitch of Louis’ cock against him. Sucking against the area lightly, denim and all, his heartbeats scattering like starlight at the soft moan his touch elicits. He glances up then, leaning back on his heels a little, as his eyebrows rise and he waits. It takes Louis a moment before he catches on and remembers the no hands rule. He smirks then, flicks the top button open and waits a beat, his eyes challenging.

Harry just dampened his lips and gave a tilt of his head.

And then he’s trying to contain his own smile as he hears a mumble of  _fuck you anyway, Styles,_ and they’re both laughing a little as Louis shucks off his jeans, boxers and all, taking one sock with him as he goes, then cursing as the jeans get tangled on the other foot, before realising there’s still a boot in a way. He kicked them aside, letting them dangle from one ankle, crooking a finger at Harry, smirk still intact as he gazed down at him. “Get your mouth on me.”

Harry merely smiled. Fuck knows he wants to, because if there’s a better use of his mouth than his lips on Louis’ cock he hasn’t found it. Well, yeah, there were other things. But Louis coming apart in his mouth while crying out his name is one of the first memories he has where he knew, for sure, that this wasn’t just messing around, and that he wanted to do that again and again. Make Louis tremble against him and take all his troubles away.

Still, he pulls back because he has a sort of plan here. He moves instead to the inside of his knee, trailing a kiss up his thigh and back again, bracing his hands on the floor to steady himself, as he skims down swirling his tongue across the spiderweb drawn there, almost making himself laugh when he thinks  _tongue tangler._ His mouth drifts close to edge of the creased up fabric round his calve, then it’s a shift back onto his own heels, just a second, before leaning in again,  _bloody stone floors were so not designed for this,_  pressing a brief kiss to the other kneecap, before angling his head down, coming to rest at the top of Louis’ now bare right foot. A breath of air across his ankle.

He presses his lips to the triangle there, and he knows that Louis can feel what he’s saying with his mouth and his heart and all the breath in his body. That it’s there even when it’s hidden away; cold days and dark nights, it’s always there. That he remembers it and everything it means, simple lines on a delicate patch of skin. Harry’s favourite part of him, because it always drew a soft sigh, somewhere short of a laugh. That he put that particular symbol there was a reminder that only Harry got to find those places, and that Louis knew exactly who he was. That he was Louis Tomlinson.

“Mmmm, baby...get my jacket.”

Harry’s eyes flickered open as he looked up from where he’d gotten lost in the exploration of those dainty ankle bones. “Hmmm?”

Louis gestured with his still booted foot. “My jacket, babe. Use it. You’ll fuck up your knees if you stay down there much longer,” he grinned, “and sorry love, but I really need you down there a little longer, please.”

Harry smiled lazily as he stretched a little to reach the garment in question. “Such a gentleman, thinking of me at such a time.” He arranged it just so,  _yeah definitely better_ , and brought his knees to sit within Louis’ legs, drawing himself closer with a hook of his fingers around a cupboard handle, which was to the right of one very nice, very naked thigh.

Louis flinched lightly at the brush of Harry’s coat sleeve against his skin. “Yeah, always thinking of others me. No selfish motives here at all, obviously.”

He hissed out a breath as Harry licked a line along his pelvic bone and then blew lightly over it, before dotting kisses down his inner thigh murmuring words as he went. “So altruistic. Defender of knees. My hero.”

“Harry, babe, you’re still talking.”

“So I am…let me remedy that.” He hummed in appreciation.  _Look at you._ He fucking loves how much he’s turned him on. That gorgeous cock so ready, a brush away from his stomach, waiting for Harry’s mouth and tongue. For what he can give him. He feels the tight press against his own jeans, like a dull ache, but his focus is all for Louis now. He could think of a dozen ways to start this, knows just what response he’ll get, they’re so familiar with each other’s reactions at this point. Maybe he has to be a little more inventive here,  _wouldn’t be the first time,_ because he can’t use hands. Normally by now he’d be drawing his foreskin back, playing a little, then a thumb across the tip, before drawing a long finger down and taking him in hand, making him moan, mouth over fist. Now he just grips the cupboard handle a little harder and angles his head right in as he takes his balls in his mouth, first one, then another, jaw loose as he sucks lightly, then harder, enjoying the softly uttered  _yes_  from Louis’ mouth.

He pays them undivided attention until he can feel the tension growing in the press of Louis’ inner thigh against his cheek. He’s managed to stay fairly still so far but Harry knows part of him’s itching to move, for that added contact even as he’s losing himself in it, a hitch in his voice already. “Fuck, baby, you’re so good at that, so good I-” His words turn to half groan, half sigh as Harry just draws his tongue up from the base of his cock,  _up up up,_  until he’s on him, sinking back down quickly, taking him all in, holding him there just for that handful of painful, beautiful seconds before easing back, smaller sucks of the tip as he draws his lips in, a tease of his tongue around the head, a push against skin, over and over, Louis’ voice rising with his hips. “Jesus, fuck, Harry, yes. Right fucking there. Oh God, babe. Fuck, fuck. Jesus. I can’t take it. I can’t. I can’t.”

Harry knows exactly what he can take. And he’s the one to give it to him. He flicks a glance up at him, all shallow breaths and flushed skin, his knuckles white against the counter edge now. Yeah he knows. He leans in again to press noisy, open-mouthed kisses along his pelvis and lower stomach, brushing a soft graze of lips across his cock before resuming his attentions on the other side. Wet and hot. A moist swipe of his tongue on his balls again, followed by the smallest of nips on his inner thigh, before taking him in once more, letting his mouth come to rest just an inch or two in. He stills his movement, relaxes his throat and tongue, lips firm but loose, throwing a glance up at Louis, letting him know that he needs to do the work now, take what he wants. What he needs.

He keeps his eyes on him until Louis’ gratifyingly glazed gaze finds his. A little wild now. “Don’t stop, don’t…I need you…I need to..fuck-” He gives a small flex of his hips on the last word, as he clues in to the control Harry’s giving him. Little rolls then, making the contact so good for them both. “God, baby I love you, you’re so hot, so good to me, fuck, fuck, please. Let me just…yeah.”

There’ll never be anything more beautiful than Louis losing control right in front of him. If he only had these moments forever, they’d be enough. This intimacy of him. This knowledge. Every colour that he is spread out before him. But they’ve got more, so much fucking more, and he loves it, and he loves him, and he loves to find every way he can of showing him. He shifts his knees again, finding purchase as he grinds his denim clad  _jesus too fucking tight_ hips against Louis’s bare leg, anything to just find a little friction.

He can feel Louis pause to let him adjust even though he knows he’s close, and after a final breath, he goes down on him again, hollowing his cheeks now, hard, wet slides of his mouth, caught in every noisy, messy minute of it. He can taste the edge of Louis’ want as he finally gives in and tangles a hand in the curls caught up in his bun, tugging there just a little, met with a smart jab of those hips. “Fucking beautiful yeah. Got to…got to…mmmm.” Harry felt his grip slip a little, fluttering softly over the escaped strands at the nape of his neck, fingers massaging lightly there as he angled Harry’s head up a touch, drawing himself back with the other hand “Now babe, now I’m gonna…just wait..yes…fuck…fuck yeah..yeah..you got this…you got me. Fuck.” With a final thrust into his hand he’s grazing the corners of Harry’s mouth, slipped into his lips, coming hard and easy and fast. He feels lightheaded at the taste of him, sprinkled across his tongue, a little spill on the corner of his mouth, onto his neck.  _So fucking hot._ He feels the familiar tug in his stomach. Wants to come himself. But this is Louis. This is all Louis. And he loves it.

This feeling is yellow. He’s dizzy with it. People think white is the opposite of black but it’s yellow that takes him through the dark. The colour of the sun. Black and white is for newsprint, and ink on contracts, and a world that prides itself on absolutes. For those who will never see past the filters, blinded to the spectrum of light that plays out in the distance, a response to every drop of rain. Those who forget that just because you can’t see the ultraviolet doesn’t mean it isn’t there. He’s here. They’re here, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Right here, with the press of Louis’ hip against his cheek, his hand soft in his hair, as they both try and catch their breath, caught in each other, always each other. Just them, as the gentle patter of rain hits the windows once more. They’re alive, and they exist in living colour.

The pain is starting to creep back into his knees when he finally pulls back and he can feel Louis stagger slightly against him as he attempts a step forward, before mumbling  _fuck_  as he slides down the cupboard door at his back, coming to rest with a little bump on the floor next to him. They both stared out into the space of the rapidly darkening kitchen, moments into minutes, until they could find their voices again. Harry spoke first. “Okay, then?”

Louis tilted his head sardonically as he looked at him. “Meh. Eleven and a half, maybe twelve out of ten, pal. No biggie.”

Harry laughed softly. “Smalls deal.”

Another laugh then as Louis gave his knee a squeeze. “Guess I asked for that.”

“Well it is cold.”

That earned him a half-hearted elbow jab. “Behave or I’ll forget how to head south for the winter.” He threw him a wink. “And if that had to be the first blowjob I got as a twenty-three year old, it was almost worth getting older for.”

He leaned forward to tug off his remaining boot and the tangle of his jeans. Harry skimmed a hand up and down his back as he moved, reluctant to lose the connection. “Do you still want tea?”

Louis shifted back with a grin. He brought a hand up to the side of Harry’s face, brushing a thumb across the corner of his mouth. “In a bit. Right now, by my estimate-” he moved to straddle his hips, “we’ve still got fingertips to go and I think...” a roll of his own hips then, making Harry hiss at the contact, the tight confines of his jeans combined with Louis pressed against him almost painful, “...you could use a helping hand.” Another roll as he brushed his lips along his jawline. “Hmmm?”

Harry gripped his hips to still the grinding movement. “That’s cheating.”

Louis angled back his head. “So it is.” He drew his tongue across his bottom lip. “Can I help it if you taste better than tea?”

“Your sponsors will be…ah fuck don’t…gutted.”

Harry felt his hands slide down his neck to his shoulders and chest, fingers searching for buttons. Felt him pause and watched him draw back, eyebrows rising, with a murmured _oh shit_  before a laugh escaped him. “Well your days of free coats might be at an end too.” He shook his head as the laughter rolled through him again.

“What is it now?”

Louis inclined his head towards Harry’s right shoulder, tapping his fingers there lightly. “Ah..sorry?” He didn’t look a bit sorry.

Harry glanced down, his eyes widening as he brought his own hand up involuntarily, pulling the lapel out to look closer at the not at all obvious stain that now resided there. For a split second he was horrified _. Oh fuck…this is couture._ He had a wild vision of himself getting dragged on  _Fashion Police_ , then he just laughed, and gave a shrug as he toed off his boots. “You know what? I don’t fucking care. It was worth it. It’s just a coat.”

Louis smirked. “Don’t think that’s what the Saint Laurent people had in mind when they gave it to you, but you’ve got bloody six hundred of the things so I guess you won’t miss one.”

Harry narrowed his eyebrows. “I love it when you pretend like you don’t love this shit, Louis. How many of these,” he made the universal gesture for bunny ears, “bloody coats have you nicked off me now?”

Louis fiddled with the coat buttons, easing them open as he dropped his eyes. “Only the soft ones, and you know fine rightly that’s not why I wear them,Harry.”He pushed the coat open, sliding it down his arms, tugging the sleeves free, gesturing for Harry to hold his arms up. “And right now, I am considerably more naked than you, and that-” he made short work of removing his shirt as well, before bringing his hand down to palm him through his jeans, “is not okay.”

Harry blew out a shaky breath. “Okay we have to move, or we’ll end up with jizz jeans and all in a minute, if we’re not careful.”

Louis laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Ah jizz jeans. Good times.” He gave him a final soft squeeze, before moving back onto his heels, holding out a hand to haul Harry up with him. “Is jizz hands a thing?”

Harry groaned as he followed him up. “And you call my jokes cheesy?”

Louis ran a hand up his neck into his hair, pulling on the elastic there until the still slightly damp waves spilled down and he could run his fingers through it. “Oh come on, babe, allowing me wordplay in the jizz related category is practically in the banter handbook. Don’t kill my vibe.”

Harry leaned in to his touch with a grin of his own. “Hmmm. Okay. Ah…come jizz with me?”

“Now you’re talking.” Louis walked him backwards towards the hall leaving the scatter of boots and clothes behind them. “Handjob in the shower. Strictly come jizzing.”

“So you’re gonna clean me up and get me off? Nice. You’ve got the jizz factor.”

“Pretty sure there’s footage from the house somewhere, to be honest. We did enough.”

Harry laughed as he paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Ahaha, wait for it…jizzlebox.” His mouth quirked. “Fuck, can you imagine if they had Gogglebox when we were on the show? Every week it’d be ‘so that one who likes to get naked would like to get naked with the gobby northern one who’d like to put his gob-‘”

Louis silenced him with a kiss as he squeezed his waist. “I’m gobby? You’re the one still talking.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Four years of it, Harry. Jesus Christ.”

Harry tilted his head as he gave his backside an affectionate pinch. “Not the way to get me naked again, Louis.” He raised an eyebrow “These jeans take a while to get off. I might take my time.” He suppressed a smile as he let him go, turning so he could walk up the steps.

The grin bloomed across his face when he felt the press of Louis’ bare chest against his back. Just skin on skin, as his arms curled around his waist and drew him in. He stood there for a moment, a hand on the banister as he savoured the contact, before bringing his own hands down to lace their fingers together. Such a simple thing, a hug. But it’s that feeling again. The one that washes over him when they touch. He feels safe. He belongs here. Louis’ lips pressed between his shoulder blades with affection, a quiet whisper of  _I love you_ against his skin. He’s done it maybe a thousand times, this small thing that means so much.

They both lingered in it for a few moments before he felt Louis ease back, hooking his fingers into the loops of Harry’s jeans after a smart tap on the arse to get him moving, his thumb a soft brush on his lower back that made him shiver.  _Fingertips indeed._  He made his way up the stairs, Louis close behind him, never letting his hands fall from his back. He loved the times they got a bit like this, a little clingy, just needing to touch. Life doesn’t allow it quite so much in the way it used to, and maybe it’s just another natural change with growing older and loving longer, but somehow it makes the times that they can better. Worth everything they have to do to have them.

He’s reminded of that film, whatever it is, something about drizzles and hurricanes. No matter what kind, whatever next day, or week, or year brings, there’s nothing they can throw at them anymore that will wash this love of theirs away. There may always be rain that falls upon them, and clouds that gather to cause a storm, but in the end, for those lucky few who get to see it, there will always be something beautiful visible in that space, before the skies turn grey again. There’s a hum in his heart of a song sang by a frog once long ago. He’ll always have his rainbow connection. He’ll take the rain that falls and always make better of it. They both will. He knows how to take the maelstroms that they might encounter and how to weather them. They can make it dark and he’ll always find his way to a brighter tomorrow. Outside forces might make it rain in days yet to come, but together they’re a spectrum, and Harry knows that as long as there is Louis in his tomorrows, then they will always be more than black and white. He knows where to find the colour in his world. And he knows what it would be without it. Louis is his colour. He’s every colour there is.

Because there are no rainbows without the light of the sun.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This finds them in a quiet moment in-between what is still surely a frenetic time, even when they’re officially off work, with all the family and friends catch-ups, the holidays and Louis’ birthday to contend with at such times, before one or other of them jets off to work on something else. Even if they manage to sneak off somewhere quietly, or meet up off-radar in said places, it feels like they would rarely get the chance to be just be for a little, to be quiet, to be them with no other obligations, even for just a few hours. So I wanted to try and capture a snapshot of one of their AWOL days, in this instance we’ll say December 28th 2014, when they could take a little longer with each other and find solace in a tiny window of time.
> 
> Here I examine the study of rainbows and the idea that Harry feels like those who see Louis for less than he is are seeing a world stripped of so much of its colour. Met with this is his need to make sure Louis feels as safe and loved as he he himself feels, and that the black and white perceptions of the outside world aren’t taking too much from him. That he’s okay. That together they’ll always be okay.
> 
> One can never tell exactly what Harry is saying with his pictures and the lyrics/quotes that he gives us, but the absence of something is very powerful, and it’s something I think Harry is very aware of-so I pondered on his use of colour, and lack thereof and this is the result. I listened to a lot of Burberry Acoustic while working on this one. Soft beauty, rich tones, at times achingly beautiful, the known and the unknown. All colour in words and voices, with a little side of fashion. It felt…appropriate.


End file.
